Shining brightly through the night
An image of beauty lights the skies
They call her Princess
Thousands of lovers have passed through her lips
And through her veins
Kisses like syringes pierce her soul
The epitomy of perfection personified in her eyes
Yes, those beautiful eyes
Shot with blood and stinging tears
They call her Princess
With a carefully curved body
That's as tall as she wants it to be
Depending on what she's on
Deep within the center of Central Park
She awaits to inspire anyone
Who urges to feel great and get higher
She's as vulnerable as a new born babe
Whenever she takes a hit
Whether lighting up or lying down
They call her Princess
Hers is a life filled with strife and complications
Lost lovers, lost family, lost years
She knows what is to be alone
Always fending for herself
She'll do anything to keep that high
She's even taken someone's life to save her own
Yea, the picture of perfection
On park benches or posters
But regardless of who she may really be
They call her Princess.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem